{"product_id":"2940013768888","title":"At the Pistol's Point","description":"THE church bells were ringing for evensong, croaking across the snow with \u003cbr\u003eshort, harsh strokes, as though the frost had eaten into the metal and \u003cbr\u003emade it hoarse. Outside, the scene had all the cheery sparkle, all the \u003cbr\u003epeaceful glamour, of an old-fashioned Christmas card. There was the \u003cbr\u003esnow-covered village, there the church-spire coated all down one side, \u003cbr\u003ethe chancel windows standing out like oil-paintings, the silver sickle of \u003cbr\u003ea moon, the ideal thatched cottage with the warm, red light breaking from \u003cbr\u003ethe open door, and the peace of Heaven seemingly pervading and enveloping \u003cbr\u003eall. Yet on earth we know that this peace is not; and the door of the \u003cbr\u003eideal cottage had been opened and was shut by a crushed woman, whose \u003cbr\u003ehusband had but now refused her pennies for the plate, with a curse which \u003cbr\u003efollowed her into the snow. And the odour prevailing beneath the thatched \u003cbr\u003eroof was one of hot brandy-and-water, mingled with the fumes of some rank \u003cbr\u003etobacco.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOld Fitch was over sixty years of age, and the woman on her way to church \u003cbr\u003ewas his third wife; she had borne him no child, nor had Fitch son or \u003cbr\u003edaughter living who would set foot inside his house. He was a singular \u003cbr\u003eold man, selfish and sly and dissolute, yet not greatly disliked beyond \u003cbr\u003ehis own door, and withal a miracle of health and energy for his years. He \u003cbr\u003edrank to his heart's content, but he was never drunk, nor was Sunday's \u003cbr\u003ebottle ever known to lose him the soft side of Monday's bargain. By trade \u003cbr\u003ehe was game-dealer, corn-factor, money-lender, and mortgagee of half the \u003cbr\u003evillage; in appearance, a man of medium height, with bow-legs and immense \u003cbr\u003eround shoulders, a hard mouth, shrewd eyes, and wiry hair as white as the \u003cbr\u003esnow outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe bells ceased, and for a moment there was no sound in the cottage but \u003cbr\u003ethe song of the kettle on the hob. Then Fitch reached for the \u003cbr\u003ebrandy-bottle, and brewed himself another steaming bumper. As he watched \u003cbr\u003ethe sugar dissolve, a few notes from the organ reached his ears, and. the \u003cbr\u003eold man smiled cynically as he sipped and smacked his lips. At his elbow \u003cbr\u003ehis tobacco-pipe and the weekly newspaper were ranged with the \u003cbr\u003ebrandy-bottle, and he was soon in enjoyment of all three. Over the paper \u003cbr\u003eFitch had already fallen asleep after a particularly hearty mid-day meal, \u003cbr\u003ebut he had not so much as glanced at the most entertaining pages, and he \u003cbr\u003efound them now more entertaining than usual. There was a scandal in high \u003cbr\u003elife running to several columns, and sub-divided into paragraphs labelled \u003cbr\u003ewith the most pregnant headlines; the old man's mouth watered as he \u003cbr\u003edetermined to leave this item to the last. It was not the only one of \u003cbr\u003einterest; there were several suicides, an admirable execution, a \u003cbr\u003eburglary, and--what? Fitch frowned as his quick eye came tumbling down a \u003cbr\u003eparagraph; then all at once he gasped out an oath and sat very still. The \u003cbr\u003epipe in his mouth went out, the brandy-and-water was cooling in his \u003cbr\u003eglass; you might have heard them singing the psalms in the church hard \u003cbr\u003eby; but the old man heard nothing, saw nothing, thought of nothing but \u003cbr\u003ethe brief paragraph before his eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'ESCAPE FROM PORTLAND.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'ONE CONVICT KILLED, ANOTHER WOUNDED, BUT A THIRD GETS CLEAN AWAY. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'The greatest excitement was caused at Weymouth yesterday morning on the \u003cbr\u003ereport being circulated that several convicts had effected their escape \u003cbr\u003efrom the grounds of the Portland convict establishment. There appears to \u003cbr\u003ehave been a regularly concerted plan on the part of the prisoners working \u003cbr\u003ein one of the outdoor gangs to attempt to regain their liberty, as \u003cbr\u003eyesterday morning three convicts bolted simultaneously from their party. \u003cbr\u003eThey were instantly challenged to stop, but as the order was not complied \u003cbr\u003ewith, the warders fired several shots. One of the runaways fell dead, and \u003cbr\u003eanother was so badly wounded that he was immediately recaptured, and is \u003cbr\u003enow lying in a precarious condition. The third man, named Henry \u003cbr\u003eCattermole, continued his course despite a succession of shots, and was \u003cbr\u003esoon beyond range of the rifles. He was pursued for some distance, but \u003cbr\u003ewas ultimately lost to view in the thick fog which prevailed. A hue and \u003cbr\u003ecry was raised, and search parties continued to scour the neighbourhood \u003cbr\u003elong after dark, but up to a late hour his recapture had not been \u003cbr\u003eeffected.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47068919070960,"sku":"2940013768888","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013768888_p0.jpg?v=1763590008","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013768888","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}